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Morrissey Live Review - Dundee Caird Hall

Let's just get something out of the way up front.  I am aware that there are those who doubt the goodness of the blessings Morrissey bestows upon us.  Such people query the innate goodness of the man, and fail to appreciate that which he gives us.  I should say now that I respect your beliefs, but you are wrong.  Nor can I pretend that you are welcome here.  I'm sure there are other places for you: places you would appreciate more, such as here or here.

Are they gone?  Good.  Anyhow, the Caird Hall in Dundee is not quite where one expects to see Morrissey.  Obscure is a word which suggests itself, yanking insistently on our sleeves.  But the big M is doing a tour of minor-ish venues in Scotland right now (tonight is my home town of Greenock, sadly sold out), and there is no doubt that this proved one of the highlights of the Dundonian social calendar last night, as young and old alike pressed into the venue.  It was the place to be, to see and be seen.  Young ladies were introduced into society.  Scamps with the eye for a 'kerchief darted here and there amidst the throng. The elder burghers of the city smiled benignly from their seats in the balcony as their younger brethren mixed and revelled below.

Having enjoyed several recently, I am resolute in attempting to catch support acts just now.  Last night's - Sons and Daughters - started slowly but got better and better as their allotted span continued.  It was a tough crowd.  I mean that quite literally: in front of me a 45-year-old wee Dundee wifie gave a drunk, wide-o lad a look of deep menace and threateningly pointed finger as he tried to push ahead of her, and he sloped off without argument.  A hard, hard woman, but one who had clearly been in her early 20's when The Smiths started hitting John Peel's show and the indie charts of NME and Melody Maker, and I imagine that she had never stopped loving those songs since.

Anyway, people weren't really there for music as such.  They were there for Morrissey, and that fact made it tough for the support act, who I've seen a bit of recently on MTV2.  But they soldiered on, gradually winning the crowd over with a well-crafted set that built and built in tempo and volume.  The bass player needs to work on the ability to play faster than crotchets, though: I think the dominant bassline was often sampled.

Then, following a shamelessly emotional blast of us Liverpool fans' favourite anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone", Mozza himself hit the stage, his traditional banner reading, this time, "To us you are a work of art".  The setlist itself was a mixed affair, as album-promoting tours tend to be.  The latest singles were both well-received, where the other new material was often simply indulged.  The bulk of his other solo work was from Irish Blood, English Heart, and he played nothing from Vauxhall and I or Viva Hate, which was a shame, since the former in particular is a real favourite of mine.

The man in black himself was chatty to the point of prolixity, especially in comparison with previous gigs.  He has aged in the last three or four years - all that LA sun, I imagine - but was clearly happier than on previous occasions.  Buoyant, I should say.  He certainly said more over the course of this gig than I have heard before in total.

There was a sense - and he must know this - in which most of those present were here less for the later work and more for the Smiths songs.  He did not dissapoint.  Three were played, dispersed to the beginning, middle and end of the set.  The first was wilfully obscurantist: Still Ill.  The second the bouncy, cheerful Girlfriend in a Coma from the Smiths' own favourite album, Strangeways Here We Come.  But closing the set, before the encore, was the most pleasing of crowd pleasers, the culmination of twenty years of concert-going for me: How Soon Is Now.  He played How Soon is Now.  It took a second after the jagged, pulsing guitar-line kicked in for people to recognise it - I know I took a moment - and then an explosion, as people realised that this was it.  That the investment of all these years of gigs was paying off.  It was like, well, it was like nothing.  I wrote down a list of adjectives and they all fail to capture how it was.  Just ecstasy.  Ex-statis.